Wrecked (Love Edy Book Three)

by Shewanda Pugh

  “Okay, let’s all relax,” Lawrence said. “The man said he had an accident.”

  Hassan shot him a grateful look.

  Freight straightened up first and gave him a knowing look. “Listen, I understand. I had an accident like that last year when I was dating Tamela Carpenter and Ashley Martin at the same time. This weight hit me in the eye, nose, mouth, stomach, and back. If you look at last year’s team photo, I’ve got a busted lip in it.”

  Hassan got up. He’d had all he was going to take of this. He marched over to the door and opened it. “Get out. Now.”

  Cash and Freight looked unimpressed.

  “Tell us this,” Cash said. “Are you just getting back from last night’s party? Or did you stop somewhere else?”

  Maybe he could get rid of them if he shared this tidbit. It was nothing in the scheme of things overall.

  “I’m just getting back,” Hassan said and opened the door wider.

  Cash and Freight glanced at each other.

  “And Edy gave you that, right?” Freight pointed at Hassan’s face, finger so close it got slapped away.

  That he wouldn’t share. It told far too much and it revealed him for the pain-filled idiot he was.

  “Leave him alone.” Lawrence was up and at Hassan’s side. “Can’t you guys ever take a hint? Everything doesn’t need to be said. When shit goes foul you need to let it be.”

  Somehow, for some reason, this worked. Lawrence was able to push the two out the door with Freight even casting a sympathetic glance Hassan’s way. But before the door closed, Cash said, “Did you see the Heisman list? We’re both on it!”

  Now, for that, Hassan could conjure some enthusiasm. Cash had a much better chance of being honored as a damn talented quarterback and upperclassmen. But his addition was late.

  They gripped hands enthusiastically before it turned into a one-armed embrace. Once Cash had the benefit of Hassan’s ear alone, he said quickly, quietly, “She’ll come back to you in time.”

  They broke the hug with Hassan looking slightly starry-eyed. He needed something to do, so he jammed his hands in his pockets before giving the guys a nod of goodbye. After all, Cash wasn’t exactly the romantic or reassuring type. Hell, had he ever seen the guy hug someone? What was happening here?

  Lawrence stared at Hassan awhile. “You okay?” he finally said.

  Hassan shook his head. No. Never. Was ‘okay’ part of his existence anymore? It felt like he simply managed to get by.

  The days passed at a crawl. Hassan spent them telling himself that what had happened with Edy was for the best. He spent those same days telling himself that he’d spend the rest of his life thinking of her, wanting her, and wondering what she was doing at that moment. Would she eventually get married? The thought twisted his stomach and caused him physical pain. If Hassan and Edy ever calmed enough to be civil towards each other, then he’d be forced to look this other guy in the eye, shake his hand, and even smile at him. Would he sense the jealously coming off him like a viper? Would he know just how badly Hassan wanted to take his place or how he had been in his place and fucked it all up like the world’s most practiced idiot?

  Yeah, the days passed like that. Football was his only solace. Arkansas. Florida. Texas A&M. He played savagely, without a care for his body or what happened to it. He ran on autopilot. He cursed the opposition. They thought they had him all figured out, that he did this for something as cheap as screen time or attention. As if the attention he wanted could be had this way. Idiots.

  As if anything he wanted now could be had this way.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “How long do we have to watch this fucking channel?” Lincoln said from somewhere distant, possibly Mars.

  “As long as he wants to, love, it’s his place,” Lottie said.

  “I think he should eat something,” Matteo said. “Wouldn’t you like to eat something, Wyatt?”

  Wyatt sniffed and wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. On TV, LSU scored their zillionth touchdown.

  “That’s settled,” Matteo said happily. “I’ll make salsa and chips.”

  “That’s all you ever make,” Lincoln snapped.

  “And just what the hell do you make?” Matteo said.

  It was so much trouble following them, so much trouble being aware. All Wyatt had was hurt and pain and misery, a wellspring of it so deep he feared its bottom.

  She did not want him. She would not ever want him.

  Wyatt sniffed and wiped his nose again.

  “You’re crying, Wyatt,” Lincoln said bluntly. “In case you wanted to know.”

  That surprised him. He had hardly drunk water, so he didn’t think he had the physical capacity for tears. And anyway, how could a person sit there, crying, and not know it?

  “You’re an asshole,” Matteo said. “I don’t know why I deal with you.”

  “Fuck off,” Lincoln said.

  “Don’t fight. I do not want the two of you fighting,” Lottie said. “I have enough on my hands.”

  Matteo sighed. “Noted.”

  How long had life been happening around Wyatt? He couldn’t say. The first days after Edy’s outburst were filled with outbursts of his own, screaming, lung-emptying rages where, for the first time, he’d called her every filthy word he’d known—and he knew a lot thanks to his dad—before folding like the crepes at Edy’s birthday party and sobbing face down into the floor.

  He had never believed he had anything in common with his father before that day. That day he learned he was his father and his father was Wyatt. Once the man had been a boy neglected by his own father, Wyatt’s grandfather, before he became the crude, revolting figure of today. Wyatt had been on his trajectory without even knowing it, and it took a string of profanity to prove it.

  There were more days of screaming curses to the rafters—curses for Edy, for Hassan, for himself. Some of what he bellowed was nonsense no one could make out, delivered amidst a cacophony of tears. Sometimes he panted with a very real pain in his chest or gut; other times he locked himself in the room and wept into his pillows with brief rests for something like sleep.

  This was what he had fallen to now, he supposed, these silent tears, as he locked his every word, his every thought in a vessel so deep even Wyatt had trouble finding it.

  He’d turned on football days ago and sat there, on the couch, as the people and the noise and the activity around him changed. He had brief bathroom breaks. Sometimes Matteo forced water or salsa and chips—the only “dish” he knew how to make—down his throat.

  “Cabrona! Fuck!” Matteo cried as he undoubtedly chopped at his hand again.

  “Jeez, Matteo. Could you not put your life’s blood in our food, for once?” Lincoln said.

  “And could you not pick on him so much? He takes it to heart, you know,” Lottie said.

  They were all so far away.

  “You’re worried about him when your cousin is fucking comatose?” Lincoln laughed. “You’re weird, girl.”

  “He’ll come around!” Lottie cried. “Isn’t that right, Wyatt?” He felt a cool, smooth touch of skin atop his hand and flinched away, knowing it to be hers. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t like her much anymore.

  “Maybe soup would be better,” Matteo said. “I could pick up a can.”

  Lincoln sighed dramatically. “He just needs to get laid. It’s an animalistic need we all have,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “She’s not worth this, mi amigo,” Matteo said. “I’ve seen what you’ve been going through and no one is worth it.”

  “I am,” Lincoln said.

  “Not you,” he said firmly.

  “And yet you stick around,” Lincoln said.

  Lottie seemed to be cooing at Lincoln or some other such weird thing. Wyatt couldn’t be troubled to turn his head.

  “You are worth it,” she murmured to him.

  Matteo scoffed.

  “It’s not a matter of being right or wrong,” Lincoln s
aid. “Wyatt has gone to an awful lot of trouble for this girl. He was her best friend in high school, which got him bullied by her meathead boyfriend and his friends. Before he could finish the twelfth grade, loving her had got him shot. Now, with his life pieced together, what does he do? Seek her out like the true romantic he is. But she spits on that. She wants the common jock, everybody’s pretty boy.” He waved a hand impatiently. “Babe, give me one of Wyatt’s cigarettes from the drawer there, would you?”

  A bit of shuffling commenced before the familiar spark of the lighter, and oh yes, Wyatt imagined the nicotine filling the other boy’s soul. It wouldn’t be bad to have one of those.

  Wyatt turned his head to him.

  In silent acknowledgment, Lincoln offered him the cigarette. He took it with every pair of eyes plastered to him.

  “Was that about the lay of the land, Wyatt? What I was saying about Edy?” Lincoln said.

  Wyatt nodded. No one had ever reached in him quite that way and pulled out those troubling thoughts he’d had.

  “You deserve her. You should have her at least once. I think so. Your cousin thinks so, too. Want to?” Lincoln plucked the cigarette from between Wyatt’s fingers. He felt bereft without it.

  Still, he managed to nod.

  “Once might get her out of your system,” Lottie said quietly.

  Why were they doing this to him? It wasn’t possible. She didn’t want him. She’d never want him. Wyatt’s hands scrunched in fists and came undone over and over and over. His chest seemed to furl the same way. He needed them to stop. There was no way he could ever have her. And yet, his first words spoken after so much silence were said at a near-whisper.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “I’ve got this friend,” Lincoln said and took another drag of Wyatt’s cigarette, “and he’s got a friend, too. Well, this friend’s friend can get you roofies, if you need them.”

  “Roofies,” Wyatt repeated. He knew the word and yet it meant nothing to him in that moment.

  Lottie giggled. “I told you he’s an innocent.”

  For some reason, Matteo’s chopping became really loud.

  “Roofies,” Lincoln said. “You know, benzodiazepine. GHB rendered to, uh, make a particular person unconscious. Then, when said person is unconscious, you have a good time, wake them up, and send them on their way.”

  Wyatt stared at him. “You mean…” He had to be able to say it. Yet, he couldn’t. He didn’t want to hear this. He wanted to stop considering it. But God, the thought of having Edy, actually having her naked, in his bed, underneath him, taking him instead of that asshole Hassan, shot through him like a punch through the wall. She’d be completely naked. He’d finally see those incredible breasts she’d grown, ones that he’d imagined in so many ways. He still hadn’t forgotten her end of summer visit to his house when she’d given him a stiffy. He’d only thought he’d been hard then. He couldn’t even stand to think of the possibilities. He’d never been so hard in his life.

  “Uh,” Wyatt said. Realizing that the others probably could see his erection, he quickly sought for a way to turn the attention from him.

  Matteo looked him over. “Any chance I can help you with that problem?” he said.

  Wyatt’s face burned. Now his friend was coming on to him. There had to be a way to end this.

  “Help him?” Lincoln said. “Just how the hell would you do that?”

  “Same ways I help you,” Matteo said. “And you never seem to complain.”

  Okay, that was enough of that.

  “Hey,” Wyatt said, and was horrified to find his voice low and husky. “How would you expect me to get her back over here after all that’s happened?”

  “Wyatt!” Matteo said. “You cannot seriously be contemplating this shit. It’s rape. She’s just a girl.”

  “You don’t even like girls. How would you know?” Wyatt snapped.

  He hadn’t meant it, even before Matteo gasped, threw down his knife, and spat a string of obscenities Wyatt couldn’t understand.

  “I’m sorry,” Wyatt murmured. “Tell him I’m sorry,” he said to no one in particular.

  Lincoln waved a hand. “Forget that. Let’s get back to the matter at hand.”

  Rape.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Edy glanced at Silas, found him looking at her, and then blushed. She couldn’t help but look away. For the umpteenth time, she stared at the black and white checkered pattern of the restaurant’s floor. It had been this way as they’d practiced for weeks, steps confident, flirty, splashing with swagger, even as she blushed and never said much. Now that they’d come to the end of it all, they sat at a blindingly white ice cream parlor to celebrate.

  “How is it?” Silas said.

  Absentmindedly, he reached over, tilted her chin so that she faced him, and brushed a thumb across her lower lip. When it dipped into her mouth, she gasped, cheeks flaming and jerked away.

  She had agreed to meet him like this so she could break things off, but every step of the way he had been anticipating and toying with her.

  “Silas, I—’

  “Whipped cream,” he interrupted.

  Edy’s eyelashes fluttered. “What?” she said. Belatedly, she looked down at her sundae, remembering it was topped with whipped cream.

  “Your lips,” he said, “had whipped cream on them. I’d ask if you minded me removing it, but I’m already pretty familiar with the exploratory side of your mouth, aren’t I?”

  God, she could drop through the floor. Silas returned to his own dessert as if he hadn’t said a word, as if he hadn’t conjured the memory of the near-half dozen times they’d made out—one of which included his hands getting exploratory. And that was it. Edy had figured it out. He knew why she’d asked to see him. He knew that this was where their story ended.

  “You know why I want to see you, don’t you?” she said.

  He looked up, gray eyes cool as a morning before rain. Yet… at their edges lay the storm. A storm of colossal magnitude.

  “How could I possibly know?” he said smoothly.

  Silas sat completely still and waited, even as the cherry on his sundae slumped to one side.

  She sighed. “Silas, listen to me, I really like you—”

  “But ever since you fucked Hassan at the Iota Rho party, you just haven’t got eyes for me.”

  Edy recoiled at the malice in his voice. Still, she recovered herself, shaking off the urge to scurry under the table in embarrassment. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that. Whatever happened between me and Hassan is just that, between me and Hassan.” She recovered herself a tad. “Look, just because you’re hurting—”

  He laughed in that nasty way bullies did. “Hurt? Really? You’re the wounded one who goes around using people and getting used.”

  Edy had no idea when she’d begun to tremble. She gripped the edge of the table as she worked on maintaining some semblance of control. He would not get a rise out of her. He was right to some degree. Despite his rough exterior, she had recognized his feelings. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken him up on his offer to use him as a catalyst to purge herself of Hassan. No matter what, Silas hadn’t been able to take possession of her heart. Edy had no idea if that was what he’d been hoping for. She had no idea if that was what she’d been hoping for. Either way, she was sorry for this pitiful end.

  “I’m going now,” Edy said quietly, pushing her ice cream towards him. She had only a few dollars in her pocket and there was no way she’d put them on the table. “But I am sorry. In the end, there was just too much between me and Hassan, even if I did have feelings for you.”

  Silas glared at her. “Well, did you or not?”

  She looked at him blankly for a moment. “Yeah. Definitely. If there were never a Hassan Pradhan then you and I could’ve been something. Thank you for letting me test the waters and try to get over him.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, face creased in the deepest of frowns.

  Once outside, Edy ca
lled one of the Lady Tigers to pick her up. Of course, London wasn’t available but Tamela would be there straight away. Cringing, she calculated the distance back to campus.

  “Night,” Silas said, and revved his engine in the parking lot. Without a backwards glance, he peeled off.

  Tamela arrived soon after.

  ***

  Wyatt couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling, practicing the deep breathing techniques that his therapist had taught him, but more and more they blended with the lush, eager sounds of lust from next door. It absolutely boggled his mind how he—the virgin—had been accused of all manners of depravity with Lottie, a girl who had slept with Lincoln, Lincoln and Matteo together, the brewer’s son, Solomon, and a drunken guy from the Florida Away party all since they’d been in Baton Rouge. He didn’t care though; Lottie had made a fairly eloquent argument as to how promiscuity was a label wielded by men to control women. She said that guys called girls sluts even as they congratulated each other for as much sex with as many partners as possible. Despite all that, he’d nearly taken a pitchfork up the ass for supposedly violating an innocence she didn’t have.

  Eventually, Wyatt was only able to sleep after grabbing a bottle of hand lotion and jerking off feverishly to the image of taking Edy as she slept. He’d been rougher with her than he would have anticipated, angrier even, with all traces of the boy who thought her perfect gone.

  But he still wanted her like mad.

  Yeah, perhaps the circumstances were right for a one-and-done kind of deal. Once he did the deed, who would know, except him? It wasn’t like she was a virgin. She was probably screwing the new guy now. What was one more? How would she even be able to tell?

  She wouldn’t, Wyatt figured. With that thought, he drifted off to sleep.

  That night, Wyatt dreamed of Edy. Edy spread across his sheets and reaching for him as she wore a silk pink nightie that made him gasp.

  There was no mistaking her intentions as she looked up at him with soft and luminous, half-lidded eyes. He climbed into bed with her, pausing only to tug off his t-shirt and ease out his boxers. His prick bounced back at him like a sling shot, taut and ready to go. She only smiled at him, then giggled a little, making him smile back and giggle a little more.